


Closer To Fine

by Varynova



Series: Of Satanists and Solipsists: Consider The 80s [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, CW: Extensive Discussions Of Sexual Harassment, CW: Unfortunately Named Television Episode, F/F, Star Trek: The Next Generation - Freeform, The Indigo Girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varynova/pseuds/Varynova
Summary: Friends ROSE LALONDE and MARY-KAY ANAAM have spent every weeknight for the past two weeks digesting the first two seasons of the hip new show on their local station,Star Trek: The Next Generation.  But when even the feminist snark runs thin perhaps the two of them will have to find other ways to entertain themselves.This is a side-story to the Jade-centered 80s AU,The Witch of Whelan's Wharf.





	1. 2x04: The Outrageous Okona

MARY: And This Okona  
MARY: Sexually Harasses This Poor Engineer  
Mary-Kay shifts uncomfortably on the dark olive carpet, red skirt flowing around her knees. Her gaze averts from the small, wood-paneled television to the concrete walls, eventually finding the high and slender window well.

You cup delicate thumb and forefinger across your brow, head tilted back against the rough chenille of the couch in Mary-Kay's basement den. You slumped here, as usual, immediately upon showing up, in ample time before the airing of your most recent favorite show, Star Trek: The Next Generation.  
It's becoming a bit of an evening routine.  
ROSE: She's the first woman he sees onboard! We have to see he's a scamp, it sets up--  
MARY: But Later We See this Succeeds In Seducing Her  
MARY: The Sexual Politics Of This Show Are Execrable  
ROSE:...  
MARY: It Masquerades As Somehow More Advanced Than Our Civilization And Yet  
ROSE: For the comparisons they like to make between our eras, perhaps it still is!  
ROSE: Perhaps it just seems limited for our uniquely feminist perspectives.  
MARY: And Yet I Can Imagine So Many Superior Options For Their Pairing  
ROSE: Lamentable, isn't it.

You still can't believe they killed off Tasha. What was Roddenberry thinking? You swore to Mary, at school between periods one day, that it was the newest thing, fascinating and groundbreaking, a hefty step above the camp and simpering of the Original Series. While Mary-Kay was convinced by your initial effusiveness, perhaps you overplayed your hand, as even as you find her skepticism relatable you hope you can sustain these evenings into (hopefully) more evolved future episodes.

Mary-Kay Anaam is a fascinating young woman, one you've had the pleasure of knowing since the last year of middle school when she moved to town. She has a tendency to surprise you with her off-the-wall flair for unorthodox fashions, and you believe no other sixteen-year-old has ever rendered to the world such immaculate diction and poise, nor kept so carefully primped a pixie cut in an intimidating jet-black. The swoop of it was what caused you to introduce yourself, actually, because to stare at a classmate for as long as you had without speaking can only be termed the height of rudeness. But she had laughed sweetly, slight overbite prominent with her dimpled cheeks as she introduced herself in turn.

Her last name, she claimed, is Arabic, meaning 'all god's creatures.' And, since the best explanation you have for your own last name is that it 'rhymes with blonde', you have to admire the looming totality of a discernable etymology such as that.

She has proven herself-- since your short-lived popularity war at the beginning of your first year of high school-- an admirable intellect, and to share surprisingly many of your own extracurricular talents, from making your own gothy clothing to keeping up with the trends of gothy fashion, and even the ways that furtive children such as yourselves can delve into the eldritch practices of makeup and cosmetics.

You've even had the unnatural fortune to get to practice on her, a few times. Makeup, that is.

MARY: So How Do You Feel It Compares To The Prior Season So Far  
ROSE: Hmm.

You stroke your chin, fingers trailing through a hypothetic, wizened beard.  
ROSE: I suppose the only episode that came close in terms of sheer eros was... Hide And Q.

Mary closes an eye, baffled.  
MARY: You Mean  
MARY: The One In Which Q Attempts To Beguile Riker Into Giving Up Humanity  
ROSE: Indeed the same!  
MARY: Not Even The One With Rikers Infatuation With His Holodeck Character Minuet  
MARY: May I Simply Ask  
MARY: What  
ROSE: Oh, it's very straightforward:  
ROSE: Q is jealous of Riker, very plainly.  
ROSE: A man with a mission, a youthful face, a purpose to his existence that isn't haranguing beleaguered ship's captains. And a man we know is already involved with Counselor Troi.  
ROSE: Plus, getting to spend that much time in proximity to the captain...  
MARY: You Do Not Believe Q Wishes To

You cut her off with an upturned finger, raising an eyebrow.  
ROSE: It's merely a theory. I have yet to see most of these episodes more than once, and that doesn't include the several we have happened to miss.

Mary-Kay blinks, shrugging a theatrical shrug.  
MARY: Fair Enough

\--

You end up staying over for dinner, and doing most of your homework coiled up on the Anaams' couch, opposite Mary-Kay, merely enjoying the quiescent evening together in silence.


	2. 2x19: Manhunt

The sun is setting over the ocean, which neither you nor your hostess can see from your position in her basement. You wave your hand towards the television, sweeping away the show's utopian pronouncements one by one.  
ROSE: I love this optimism that Data has-- 'judging a being by its physical appearance is the last major human prejudice'.

MARY: Then Immediately The Show Dives Into Mortification At Picards Perfectly Normal Interior Thoughts   
ROSE: Indeed, a mindreader speaking aloud someone's sexual desires seems more of a bridge too far than merely laughing at fishpeople.   
ROSE: Especially given the compulsory nature of the heterocentricities in any given plotline.   
MARY: Even With The Entire Bridge Crew In Dresses   
ROSE: They are quite comely. As are Jean-Luc's legs, according to Troi's mother.   
MARY: Then The Buffoonery Of The Luggage   
ROSE: And another opportunity to dig at Troi's lamentable relationship with Riker, and Majel Barrett's Lwaxana goes on at length about her absolute dislike of men.

Mary-Kay raises an eyebrow to you, chest rising with muted laughter.  
MARY: There Is But One Serviceable Solution To This Matter  
ROSE: Lesbianism. MARY: Lesbianism

ROSE: Indeed, feminism is the theory. I just wish she committed less sexual harrassment, to the point where poor Jean-Luc recruits his wing-android Data simply to not be alone with the fiend. Humans have no prejudices, apparently, but Troi can glibly state as regards him that 'an animal is at its best when hunted'. No flaw there, certainly!  
You're practically yelling, by this point, but Mary-Kay shrugs helplessly.  
MARY: Why Does Lwaxana Not Simply Marry A Nice Human Woman For Once  
ROSE: Honestly! She literally accosts every OTHER member of the crew, why would she not consider the similarly-forthright Pulaski, who even asks about her unbidden in the corridor!

Mary-Kay harrumphs, nose giving a sour scrunch.  
MARY: And Mister Homn In Gray Facepaint  
ROSE: Aah, the lurching Mister Homn. Ever the subject of even more of Lwaxana's jests, implications of pornographic thoughts, odd heterosexist jibes.  
MARY: I Must Say That Tone Of Makeup Does Not Suit Him  
ROSE: I think it's quite dashing. At least if the neck were a bit better covered.

She arches an eyebrow.  
MARY: There Is No Individual Whose Looks Are Improved With Gray Skin

ROSE: And this holodeck plot!   
ROSE: Dixon Hill, private dick, is accosted by a man named Bender, and the computer turning his adversaries against him is voiced by?   
ROSE: Majel Barrett.   
MARY: Do You Mean To Say   
MARY: Gene Roddenberry Cast His Wife As Both Picards Sexual Harasser And The Executor Of His Stymied Holodeck Wishes   
ROSE: Precisely. Such an odd, almost psychosexual turn, isn't it?   
MARY: Almost As Odd As When Mister Crusher Terms Worf   
MARY: Handsome

You laugh. Doesn't get more explicit than that, does it.

ROSE: It's practically cruel the show lets a serial harasser like her become even still the butt of a bitter joke about some hypothetical women completely obsessed with marriage.   
MARY: So Much So That She Is Eventually Practically Paired Off With A Literal Hologram   
MARY: Merely Because He Is The One Being She Cannot Look Down Upon For Having Feelings   
ROSE: That's perhaps a tad harsh. But yes, it constantly stymies the intellect that some beneficent future cannot make room for any movement around this odd and compulsory dooming of masculinity.

You both nod in concert. Mary-Kay stretches, and stands to retrieve more popcorn from upstairs.


	3. 2x06: The Schizoid Man

ROSE: ...So from what I gathered from that scene is that respected roboticist, Dr. Ira Graves, has been dishonorably expelled from Starfleet neither for his dilletantism on a distant planet, his absolute neglect for his own health and physical condition, nor his frankly staggering attitude towards his assistant. Instead, his work-- of which we see none in the entire episode, no evidence-- is entirely to serve his own whims and desires with no oversight or schedule.  
MARY: I Know I Have Naught But Complained As Regards The Last Several Episodes  
MARY: And That This Plot Likewise Is Merely Pastiche  
MARY: But It Seems To Me That He Intends To Do To Poor Kareen That Which He Did To Prolong His Own Life  
MARY: He Respects Her Autonomy So Little That He Would Reembody Her To An Android Form Without Her Consent  
MARY: Much Like He Disrespected Data  
MARY: Who He Believed A Literal Object To The Point Of Nearly Destroying His Consciousness  
You wave your hand with conviction towards the screen, but Rose has her palms over both eyes. Out of frustration?

ROSE: No, he's seeking out a companion! I can abso--  
Rose groans a low groan. Her expression sours to a sneer of pain, and you slide closer, reaching out both hands to steady her shoulders.  
MARY: Rose  
MARY: Are You Alright  
ROSE: Ughhh... I've been getting... this _damned_ headache, a migraine, or something. You said these were regular Cokes?  
MARY: I Believe My Mother May Have Procured Diet By Mistake  
ROSE: Well, aspartame has given me awful migraines before, if that's the...  
ROSE: Wait, no. Give it a moment-- it might be starting to clear up.  
She breathes, teeth still gritted, but sighs, dropping her shoulders once more.  
ROSE: Alright...

She shifts herself upward again, hands planted firmly at the 70's shag beneath her.  
MARY: Do You Require A Liniment  
MARY: Or A Glass Of Water Perhaps  
ROSE: No, sorry about that, I'm feeling much better, now.  
ROSE: How odd.  
ROSE: As to the topic of conversation-- certainly we agree that Data is an individual of his own, and that any plot to disembody or destroy him is deeply heinous. But perhaps Graves sees his actions-- taking over Data's body and diminishing his control over it, preparing to set up his assistant with a similar body-- as necessary for his survival, indefinitely?  
MARY: Absolutely Not  
MARY: So Much Of The Primary Ethic Of This Show Is To Display That The Human Lifespan Is Not A Tragedy  
MARY: Nor Is The Resultant Mortality  
MARY: And That History Will Recall Us Like It Has Those Before Us  
MARY: Not As A Chain Of Great Figures But  
MARY: Oeuvres  
MARY: Movements  
MARY: Periods And Systems Interrelating To Produce History  
ROSE: Hegel's dialectic, yes. I'm familiar. But as he, Aristotle, and Marx all wrote, that synthesis must come about through conflict, and sometimes that conflict is personal.  
ROSE: Like one deranged, misogynistic old coot struggling against his mortality. In fact, that seems the most basal, inherent struggle that exists, on an even more deep level than anything we'd call 'human nature'.  
MARY: You Speak Of Freuds Two Drives  
MARY: Eros And Thanatos  
ROSE: Precisely. As any character, perhaps this Dr. Graves is motivated by both.  
MARY: But In That Case No Fictional Character Can Be Blamed For Their Actions  
ROSE: What good would it do to project our own petty, personal moralities onto the actions of nonliteral entities? We can determine how we feel through examining and sympathizing with either their actions or the pain they cause on others, but the notion of declaring the actions of a character in Sophocles or Shakespeare good, or evil, or having any moral value whatsoever is merely the valuation we would put in a real person in their place.  
ROSE: And perhaps that's misguided except as a formation of aesthetic sensibilities.  
MARY: Do You Truly Wish To Contend  
MARY: That No Figure Biblical To Present  
MARY: Has Any Moral Value Whatsoever  
MARY: Including This Foolish Bastard Attempting To Plug The Target Of His Deeply Inappropriate Affections Into A Robot Doubtless Under His Own Control  
ROSE: ...I suppose that is the natural conclusion of my statement, yes. Perhaps further examination of the question is warranted.  
MARY: Perhaps


	4. Strange Fire

You flip off the blockish television using the push-button switch on the front of the set. It is another afternoon, filled (as are so many) with Star Trek and Rose, though you cannot admit to having a particular interest in the former at the moment. The episode broadcasted today-- a rerun of the first season's "The Naked Now"-- filled you with such a profound disinterest that even as you pondered an early nap Rose requested you turn it off so that you could focus on other things.

The bluish daylight from the scrawny basement window casts itself across both of your laps as you seat yourself on the floor again, and you scratch idly at a knee with long fingernails.

MARY: I Can Admit That Was Not Particularly To My Taste Either   
ROSE: Ughh. Sorry, when we missed the run of this episode initially I had presumed it would be more like the original series' version.   
MARY: In Regards To   
MARY: Perhaps Mister Sulu Cavorting Shirtless And Demanding Combat With A Mister Richelieu   
ROSE: Cardinal, actually. But yes, the continued invasion of that execrable _boy_ is most unwelcome as a continual plot device.   
MARY: Oh   
MARY: Speaking Of Our Needs Of Media   
MARY: Have You The Record You Indicated You Would Loan Me Today   
ROSE: Oh! Yes, here you are.

From her plain black backpack, Rose lifts a copy of the Indigo Girls' first full album, _Strange Fire_.

ROSE: I'll admit delay only on the grounds that every time I picked up the album to pack it to our meetings for these last two weeks, I ended up listening to it in its entirety again.   
ROSE: I sadly have yet to acquire their sophomore effort, but my hope is to do so soon.   
ROSE: It's only out this year. Apparently Michael Stipe even does backing vocals for one of the tracks.   
ROSE: Would you like to have a listen?   
MARY: Please   
MARY: The Degree To Which You Have Hyped Up This Particular Album Sparks In Me Nothing So Much As An Almost Prurient Curiosity About What Music Could Have You So Enraptured   
ROSE: I promise it's nothing inconceivable. Transcendent, yes, absolutely unique, but not outside the realm of musical possibility.

Rose stands, walking to the square-based record player sitting atop your speaker system. She slots in the record carefully, and places the needle into the groove, returning to sit as the player crackles to life.

As the first melodious, thrumming chords belt forth, strong and even with their confident rhythm, Rose rolls her head back, already wrapped in sound.

_I come to you with strange fire_  
_I make an offering of love_  
_The incense of my soul is burned_  
_By the fire in my blood_

You are torn, in this instant, in two directions. On one hand, the dulcet, throaty tones of Amy Ray's voice fill the room with warmth from the towers across it, making your skin tingle and armhairs stand on end; on the other, Rose's irresistable harmony, improvised and lay-drawn, creeps quietly from her own throat, lost as she is in the depths of a favorite song.

You feel an unfamiliar flushing at your cheeks as you watch Rose, eyes eased shut, exist in this moment. You can only barely hear the record, now, despite Rose's reserved, untrained singing.

It strikes you, suddenly, that she might sing only for you. This has been a recent pattern, as whenever she came to share a favorite recent record she would mumble or hum along with a first listen.

Should you feel embarrassed? Perhaps you might if you thought she did it for your benefit, but every time she has begun of her own accord.

Her voice, so intimate, close by, draws you in. You scoot closer, dragging your knees along the rug.

She adjusts her skirt and sash to give you space to approach, but keeps singing.

_I come with a softer answer_  
_To the questions that lie in your path_  
_I want to harbor you from the anger_  
_Find a refuge from the wrath_

You keep your face next to hers, trying hard not to loom despite your stature. From here, you can feel each gentle breath she takes in time, heat from her rapturous performance brushing across your neck.

But she flickers her eyes open again, head raising slightly from the cushion.

_This is a message_

Her lips stay, slightly parted, glossy pink and inches from you. The words from her mouth falter, caught in her throat, and bathing you in the sound coming from the stereo once more.

_A message of love_  
_Love that moves from the inside out_  
_Love that never grows tired_

Rose swallows, and her voice cuts back in, eyes open now, watching you with subdued intensity.  
_I come to you with strange fire_

She straightens her back, now, reseating herself upright to draw her face up to the height of your own, mouth still suspended open. She is all you can see, now, the gentle scent of lavender and cinnamon mingling with the blonde aura about her head, filling your eyes and nose with delicate dances, possibilities.

Amy and Emily sing on without her, heedless to what is happening in the presence of their music.  
_Find another state of mind_  
_You know it's time we all learned_  
_To grab hold_  
_Strange fire burns_  
_With the motion of love_

What is she... thinking about, in this instant? What is she about to do?

You realize that there was not much doubt from the beginning, nor as to why she selected this record in the first place.

She ponders you, her eyeballs locked on your own, haunting in their depth. Her gaze doesn't burn, no, even as you feel your own breath pool and mingle with hers.

She is inches from you. Is this even--?

ROSE: Um. I would like to, ah.

MARY: I Assure You   
MARY: You May   
MARY: Whatever You Are Thinking   
MARY: I Think I Share It

_When you learn to love yourself_  
_You will dissolve all the stones that are cast_  
_Now you will learn to burn the icing sky_  
_To melt the waxen mask_

This seems to steel her resolve, and her eyelashes swim to meet their lower companions. Her hand scoots from its chaste position on the couch up your arm, finding the back of your unclad neck as she positions herself close, practically touching your nose with her own, before she turns her head just enough to fit against you, lips brushing yours.

She kisses you, tentatively at first, but fully a moment later, and you press back against it in a mixture of giddy, butterfly-stomached disbelief and the knowledge that this will live in your memory forever, so you drink deeply of her careful mouth as she holds it to your own.

Perhaps it is clumsy of you, but she does not seem to be complaining.

_I said to have the gift of true release_  
_This is a peace that will take you higher_  
_Oh I come to you with my offering_  
_I bring you strange fire_

The voice of your mother from the top of the stairs cuts above the music, somehow piercing the timeless bubble in which you share this embrace.  
DOLORES: Mary-Kay!  
DOLORES: Time fo+r dinner!  
DOLORES: If yo+u'd like to+ invite yo+ur little friend to+ stay, yo+u may!

You inhale deeply, trying to dredge your voice from the sands of sudden intensity, return it to its place atop your spine, toppled as it was by the tiny black-clad woman in front of you.  
MARY: Thank You Mother  
MARY: I Shall Do So

You stand, brushing free a loose crease from the front of your dress. Without a word, you offer a hand to Rose, who accepts it, giving the lightest grunt as she pulls herself from the floor under your power.

You blink, gazing down into her violet eyes for a moment, and she smiles with the tiniest stifled laugh, cheeks red with a blush like the midday sun.

ROSE: We'll have to return to this activity later, I'm afraid. If you're amenable, though you seemed to like the first bit well enough.   
MARY: Uh

Rose walks over to the steps up from your basement, fitting her stockinged feet back into her little black flats and begins to ascend the staircase.

_This is a message_  
_A message of love_  
_Love that moves from the inside out_  
_Love that never grows tired_  
_I come to you with strange fire_

You turn off the record player and make your way to the stairs likewise.


End file.
